


Two Can Play This Game

by smallerluke



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Clothing swap, Fluff, M/M, Post-Recall, Reaper76 Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallerluke/pseuds/smallerluke
Summary: After a two-day mission, all Gabriel wants is to throw on his favorite pair of sweatpants. Too bad someone's beat him to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two of Reaper76 Week: "In His Shoes" - Role/Body Swapping
> 
> Soooo again I kind of ran with the first part of the prompt and ended up with something that doesn't really reflect it so...
> 
> A literal clothing swap and two sappy old men, coming right up.

Gabriel let out a sigh of black smoke as he worked his way down the long, sun-soaked halls of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. His joints ached in a dull, distant way, a testament to the eight-hour carrier ride. The light stung his eyes, thanks to the thrum of his usual headache—he'd find out who to thank for that, one day—which had been worsened by the deep bass of the new track Lúcio had been engineering on the trip. Catchy, sure—it'd be a hit—but matched with idle chatter between Mei and Angela and the noise from Hana's gaming stream, and his headache had threatened to bloom into a migraine. He blinked some of the glare away from his eyes and turned down a cooler hallway. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower, to wiggle into his favorite pair of sweatpants, and to flop into bed. Maybe he could get someone to bring food to his room—no pizza joints on the Watchpoint, after all—or at the very least, talk Jack into giving him a shoulder rub.

A smile rose to his lips, unbidden, but welcome. He breathed out another plume of smoke and watched it evanesce out of the corner of his eye. The evidence of his pain and stress was clear as day. If he knew Jack, he'd be fretting over him in record time.

The door to their room was unlocked. Gabriel brushed a shoulder against the frame on his way in. The air was fresh, meaning that Jack had actually cleaned; something he never would have bothered to do ten years ago. Something smelled good. His stomach growled.

"Honey, I'm home," Gabriel called out. He grinned, but he couldn’t find Jack among the corners of the room. Usually he would be hidden under a mess of some kind, but their bed was neatly made—well, neat for Jack—and he couldn’t see anything in the kitchenette. He dragged his eyes to the desk under the window. Papers rustled under a slight wind. Jack always did like to open the windows. They used to fight about him letting in cold air back in Zürich. Seemed like something ridiculous to worry about, now.

Gabriel shucked off his coat and tossed it on a hook by the door. He rubbed a hand over his shoulder. All considering, he was in pretty good shape. The mission had gone much better than expected. That it had been a little _too_ easy to take out the nest of Talon operatives was something he could discuss in the debrief in a few hours.

"Jack, where the hell are you hiding?" Gabriel ground out. He tried to sound annoyed, but it only came out fond. Damn it.

No answer.

Gabriel snorted. "You up to something, Blondie?"

Six years had changed both of them in a lot of ways. How he had changed was obvious—he lifted a smoky hand to his cheek and willed himself to pull together, and his body obeyed, his skin smoothing back into scarred brown skin—but Jack? He'd been reluctant to come back to Overwatch at all—and who could blame him, really—but since then he'd gotten comfortable, started cracking jokes and pulling the legs of the kids on base. Where Jack had picked up a sense of humor was still a goddamn mystery. Maybe it had been a defense mechanism, at first. His jokes had been more than a little fatalistic, his sarcasm biting.

Gabriel glanced into the washroom. He pulled off bits of his new armor—still unscathed after the mission—and set them on open surfaces as he searched their apartment.

"I'm right here," came a gruff mumble. A head of white hair appeared over the back of the couch. Jack rubbed at his eyes with a balled-up fist. He looked like shit, to say the least.

"Ah, of course," Gabriel sighed, "Taking a cat nap, huh?"

"Couldn't sleep last night," Jack grumbled. He flopped back on the couch, disappearing from sight.

Gabriel chuckled as he rounded the couch. Rolling his shoulders, he plopped down on the end of the couch and let his body slowly fall to the side. Jack let out a huff as Gabriel landed on top of him.

He reached up to palm at Jack's chest. His fingers ran over soft, supple leather. "Wait—"

Jack coiled away from his touch, his chest rumbling with a groan. "It's, just, you were gone—and it still smells like you, that's all—"

Gabriel pulled himself upright as Jack shifted on the couch, his mouth firmly tucked into a frown that warped the scar over his lip. Blue eyes danced away from making contact.

Jack was wearing his old trench coat over one of his well-worn hoodies. The leather creaked as he folded his arms and huffed, like he was affronted that he'd been caught. "Stop giving me that look."

"It's just...not the most comfortable thing to try to sleep in, Jack," Gabriel snickered, "And black was never your color."

Jack rolled his eyes hard as he swung his legs off the couch. Loose gray sweatpants bunched around Jack's thighs.

"Wait one goddamn second," Gabriel hissed, "Are those my sweatpants?"

Jack skittered across the floor, the tails of the coat flying out behind him. "Um, no, they're uh—" He spun around, mouth set in a sly grin. "They're so comfortable, Gabe. I can't help myself."

"Yes, you damn well can," Gabriel huffed. "I never have anything to wear when I get back, thanks to someone."

Gabriel hopped off the couch. Jack rounded the desk, moving backwards. "They're mine now, asshole."

"Oh yeah?"

Jack forced a nod. He made a show of looking serious, but Gabriel was familiar with the game. Jack had only been stealing his clothes for, what, almost forty years now?

Sure, they’d both been through the ringer, but time changed some things and left others alone.

Jack prowled backward, both hands raised. "You can try to take them back." He smirked, one brow cocked.

A challenge. The game usually ended with Gabriel making good on his words and winding up with Jack's mouth on his, but instead of taking the bait, Gabriel stalked to Jack's dresser. Curious eyes followed his every move.

"How would you like it if I stole your clothes all the time?" Gabriel hissed. He threw open a drawer and went to sorting through an endless sea of flannel. Jack always had such terrible fashion sense. "...How many goddamn plaid shirts do you own, Blondie?"

Jack shifted his weight to one leg, a hand on his hip. "They're comfortable."

Gabriel tossed a pair of corduroy pants across the room. Jack caught them with a scowl on his face.

"God, you're so old, Jack."

"You're not one to talk," Jack spat back.

Gabriel thumbed at his steel gray beard. He'd made a mess of the drawer. Jack's clothes were a goddamn joke. Even his socks were somehow suited for someone went into their eighties. "Remember when you used to have a stylist?" he grumbled.

Jack plopped onto the bed with a sigh. "Dark times."

"You used to clean up nice."

"What, I don't anymore?"

Gabriel glanced at Jack. He was sprawled across the bed now, his face propped up in one palm, wearing a shit-eating grin. The black coat definitely didn't suit him. The hoodie and sweatpants practically swam around his waist. They'd always been close to the same size; Jack was a little wider in the shoulders, and stuck at barely an inch taller than him, but Gabriel was a few pounds heavier.

He loved Jack for his heart, for his unwavering determination, for his dedication to trying to do the right thing even when it didn't pay off. His attempts at humor were endearing, his short, awkward laugh like music to his ears. Jack could be distant, and was a bit of a stubborn asshole, but they balanced out just fine.

He certainly didn't love him for his fashion sense.

Gabriel didn't give Jack the satisfaction of a response. He went back to digging through his drawers, tossing socks and boxers over his shoulder. The distraction was good for his sore back and aching head, at the very least. Jack could help him unwind a bit more after he'd made his point.

Ah. There. Gabriel grinned as he dug underneath a cream-colored sweater to pull out a pair of blue and green plaid golf pants. He lifted them in one hand, triumphant. He didn't have to glance over at the bed to see Jack's look of panic.

"W-wait," Jack stuttered, "Gabe, don't. Those are my favorite."

Gabriel slowly stood, his back aching with the effort. He dangled the horrible excuse for a pair of pants from his hand. "Trade you for my sweats, sweetheart."

Jack's expression wavered. Cold eyes flicked from Gabriel's face to the pair of pants. "But they're so cozy, Gabe—"

"Yeah. I know." Gabriel waggled the pair of pants. God, the pattern was so garish he wanted to vomit just looking at them. The last thing he wanted was to actually put them on. "What's it gonna be, Blondie?"

Jack was still and silent on the bed, mouth clamped into a hard line.

Gabriel threw the slacks down on the dresser and reached down to unbutton his pants. Jack watched, a glimmer of fear a bright spark in his eyes. Gabriel grinned back at him. "It's rude to stare."

The stubborn asshole finally relaxed, stance softening. "You're bluffing," he grumbled, "You'd never be caught dead wearing those."

"You trying to be funny?" Gabriel shimmied out of his pants and tossed them at Jack's face. He stuck one foot into the plaid monstrosity, like dipping a toe into water to test the temperature. The fabric was stiff. Jack had bothered to starch and iron them because of _course_ he had. He stuck a second foot in and wiggled them up his legs, pulling hard on the fabric to give it a little give. The pants had absolutely no stretch. "How the hell did you ever play sports in these, Jack?"

Jack palmed his discarded pants away from his face and scowled openly at Gabriel. "I won my first tour in those pants," he grunted.

"Still don't know how you managed that." Gabriel hopped across the floor as he shifted the stiff fabric over his thighs. "You're shit at golf."

"Gabe—"

The pants finally admitted defeat and slid up over his thighs. Gabriel fumbled for the clasp. He caught his reflection in the mirror across the room and felt something like a fist hit him right in the gut. God, he looked horrible. No. That wasn’t a strong enough word. Monstrous. Repulsive. Abhorrent.

He finally managed to close the fly—with a bit of wiggling and muttered obscenities—and stood, proud and thoroughly uncomfortable, at the foot of the bed. "How do you like it, huh?"

Jack glared at him, unimpressed. "Whatever," he sighed, "Keep them."

Slowly, Jack's expression cracked. It was on.

Smoke rolled off his arms. Gabriel grumbled as he worked off his compression shirt. Fine, if Jack _really_ wanted him to play the game, oh, he would. He tossed his shirt across the room into the bin and dove back toward the dresser—every step awkward and alien in the too-tight pants—flinging clothes out of the drawers. He found what he wanted almost right away.

Jack had found it in a gas station gift shop on a rare undercover mission in Idaho. The pullover sweater boasted a pattern of kittens in a watering can with a bright backdrop of sunflowers. He'd thought it was a joke, but _no_ , Jack had pulled it off the rack with glee and bought it without even glancing at the size.

Jack slapped a hand over his mouth to suppress a snort. "I thought you hated that sweater."

"I hate all of your clothes," Gabriel snapped. He tugged it on over his head and ruffled a hand through his curls, trying to look at least a little put together. If he really wanted to get competitive, he could pull out one of Jack's ratty baseball caps and throw on his slippers and bathrobe, but he wouldn't go there unless he had no choice.

Gabriel posed by the foot of the bed, purposefully avoiding the mirror. "How do I look, Jack?"

"I, uh—" Jack pulled his hand away from his face just long enough for his eyes to practically bounce out of his skull before he rolled away, snickering. "You look—God, Gabriel, you really—you really can pull anything off—"

"Oh yeah?" Gabriel crawled onto the bed, hovering over his husband. Jack kept his face hidden, his ugly snorts and laughter spilling out between the gaps in his fingers. Gabriel smoothed his hands down Jack's sides, pushing up under his hoodie. Jack never used to be ticklish. This was a new game. "Look at me, Blondie."

Jack bit down on a peal of laughter, rolling onto his stomach. "I can't," he wheezed, "I can't do it, Gabe—"

Gabriel pushed down against Jack's body. The leather coat did a good job of shielding him from Gabriel's jabs. He wiggled a hand under his side and prodded at his bare stomach. Jack's whole body flinched as he attempted to roll up into a ball under him.

"God, Gabe, don't—don't make me look at you—"

"What's the matter, Jack?" He slid one arm under his husband and rolled him onto his back. Jack squirmed, eyes clamped shut, laughter rolling out of his mouth. Gabriel leaned down to pepper Jack's cheeks with loud, smacking kisses. "I thought you missed me."

"I did, but—"

"But what?" Gabriel's back ached even as he moved over Jack, chasing him as he pitched and rolled from side to side, his face red, tears streaming down his face. "What's the matter, babe?"

"Gabriel, _please!_ ”

Gabriel caught Jack’s lips in a kiss, cutting off his laughter. Arms slowly wound around his neck as Jack relaxed, pulling in deep breaths through his nose. His face was still damp with tears, his skin warm under Gabriel’s hand.

He’d only been gone for two days, but Jack kissed him like it had been the first time since their reunion. Gabriel shifted forward on the bed, running a hand up into Jack’s hair. He pushed the leather coat out of his way and reached for the zipper of the hoodie. Jack moved under him, hands shifting through his curls.

Only two days, but goddamn—

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip._

Jack stilled underneath him. A cool slip of air touch his thighs. Had he— _no_ , that wasn’t—

“Did you just…”

He pulled himself away from Jack, blinking away his surprise. Jack’s expression was surprisingly neutral. Cool blue eyes glanced down between them, his mouth tucked up at one corner. Slowly he unwound his arms from Gabriel’s neck and shuffled out from under him, leaving Gabriel crouched over on all fours.

“Huh.”

That was one way to put it.

“Shit, Jack, I’m so sorry—”

He was cut off by a sudden howl. Jack pitched to one side, a hand clapped over his mouth to silence himself. His body shook hard as he held back on peals of laughter that instead rumbled deep in his chest.

Gabriel saw his chance and took it. Lunging forward, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his favorite sweatpants and pulled. Jack’s ass slid across the bed. He bit down on a surprised yelp, feet kicking up at Gabriel’s stomach.

Gabriel tugged the sweatpants off Jack’s ankles and darted off the bed with them in hand. The golf pants ripped farther up the seams as he bounced around the room, victorious. Just as he reached down for the clasp, Jack sprang off the bed with a glint in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gabriel said, “They’re _my_ pants.”

Jack’s teeth flashed in a grin. Oh, the game was _on_.

Gabriel fled toward the door and barreled out into the hallway, nearly tripping over the hem of Jack’s pants. “Catch me if you can, boy scout!”

He ached from head to toe, but adrenaline kicked the thoughts right out of his head. Behind him, he could hear Jack, right on his tail. He’d always been faster.

Smoke trailed out of Gabriel’s mouth with every breath. “I’m keeping these pants, by the way.”

“Over my dead body, asshole!”

Jack caught him with firm arms around his waist. Gabriel skidded to a halt—or tried to, rather, his socks didn’t catch—and let Jack turn him around. In a flash Jack’s mouth was on his, warm and firm and _perfect_. Jack pulled back and tipped his head, a goofy smile overtaking the smirk he’d worn seconds before.

“I love you.”

“Even though I ripped your prized golf slacks?”

“Even so,” Jack murmured. He brought a hand up to Gabriel’s face, lightly tracing along a scar. “You owe me a new pair, though.”

“I’ll make sure you buy something nice for once.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding that smile. “Feel like pilfering some snacks from Song’s hoard and calling it a day?”

“I was thinking about a shower and a shoulder rub,” Gabriel said.

“How about all of the above?” Jack tugged on his hand. He looked utterly _ridiculous_ ; the leather duster sweeping behind him was a dramatic overlay to the soft purple hoodie he was wearing along with his patterned boxers.

Gabriel allowed himself to be led down the sun-soaked hall, his pain now dull and distant, chased away by the swell of his heart.

He certainly didn’t love Jack Morrison for his fashion sense.

**Author's Note:**

> :)  
> This one's dedicated to my girlfriend Alice...you know why.  
> skiesovertatooine.tumblr.com


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